


The Klopstock Expedition

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Love, M/M, Romance, South Pole, polar exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Belgica Expedition AU -- 1897, Arthur and Merlin are Polar explorers stuck on a ship encased by ice. They question whether they'll live to tell the tale or die. And find comfort in each other while they're at it.





	The Klopstock Expedition

The ice extended as far as the eye could see, a frozen sea of loneliness and despair, drifting into a wall of dark fog that smudged everything. It was most solid around the hull of the ship, keeping its firm grip around the bottom of the vessel, flat slabs that were thick as walls, going God knew how many fathoms deep. They rose in mounds around the bow and the stern, superficial cracks showing in its glistening fibre. But it hadn't loosened. It would probably only do so come next season.

The sky was a dark wash showing no stars, no light whatsoever. It was night and yet it was not night as anyone knew it. For one it never ceased; for another it sucked hope right out of the most stalwart hearts. 

A profound stillness surrounded them. The very air hushed around them. Sometimes, though, the ice cracked, instilling fear in the hearts of the crew. Would the hull hold? Would they perish if it didn't? At other times they could hear seals growl and bark, penguins peep at each other. And that would mean they could add some variation to their diet.

The idea had been Merlin's. Their nutrition was lacking, he'd said. He'd been going on about James Lind and scurvy, the beneficial effects of citrus fruit on those affected by it. Arthur had stopped listening when Merlin started on the history of medicine as it related to the navy. But though Arthur had tuned him out, Merlin had not only spoken on; he'd done good, devising a diet that had kept them standing through the harshest moments.

And even that hadn't helped, had it? The situation they were in was unsustainable. If nothing happened, they were bound for destruction. They'd die forgotten here, where none would look for them, or if they did, none would find them. Besides, they were at the end of their tether. How much longer could they wait? And if, by sheer luck, they managed to weather this, would they be able to complete their mission?

A gust of Antarctic wind hit Arthur full in the face, cutting at his cheeks and mouth. He was trying to adjust the hood of his reindeer hood, when footsteps clanked up the ladder leading to the deck. 

Despite his hatred of the cold weather, Merlin moved towards him, coming to stand by the taffrail. He placed heavily gloved hands on the top of it. “Any change?”

Arthur knew what Merlin was talking about without any need to ask for clarification. Bound on the same vessel for more than a year, they had learnt each other's communication methods, and had their non-verbal shorthand. “Ice's as thick as it was yesterday. We're as trapped as we were last month and no seals or penguins in sight.”

Merlin made a sombre little noise with his throat. “I hadn't really let myself hope.”

Arthur could see why. If you let hope in, its disappointment would undo you. Better to stay focused on one's tasks, which were meant for the good of all, and not let any thought stray from the execution of one's duties. “How's the Captain?” Arthur breathed in the freezing air; as always it almost brought his lungs to stalemate. “How are the others?”

“The Captain wrote his will.” Merlin grimaced. His lips were cracked and the motion surely didn't help the healing process. “A couple of the sailors are starting to show signs of mental illness. I don't know whether it's scurvy or being cooped up on this ship.”

Though Arthur had rationally expected that much, he couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. He'd hoped for better news. “Still determined to stick by the rations, are they?”

“I told them adding penguin and seal would help their bodies get more nutrients,” Merlin said. “The Captain straight out refused. He said he'd stick by his old and tried methods.” It was clear Merlin was quoting by then. “They'd seen him through for years. He'd been in scrapes as bad as this one. You know the drill.”

So as not to show what he really thought, Arthur looked to the horizon. If he hadn't, he would perhaps have spoken unwise words, words critical of his Captain. And though he trusted Merlin, he wasn't one for disrupting the chain of command. Duty made that necessary. He also dreamt of being a captain himself one day – if they got out of this one – and if he were, he wouldn't want anyone to undermine his authority. “I hope he starts listening to you.”

Merlin shook his head. He breathed in and out, the sound of it hushed by the Polar wind. “How's the weather?”

“Same as yesterday,” Arthur said, making sure to put as little inflection in his tone as he could. He didn't want Merlin to guess what he really thought of their situation. He wanted Merlin to have faith as long as possible. “And the day before.”

“So there's little hope a change in the weather will affect the ice.” Merlin lowered his eyes. These days his profile was more gaunt, etched by the cold and the lack of proper food. “Well, it doesn't come as a surprise.”

“The ice floe will melt.” Arthur made sure to say it as confidently as he knew how. It was the last hope they could cling to. Besides he didn't want Merlin to grow despondent. “And if it doesn't, there are ways.”

As if he'd sensed Arthur's inflated optimism, Merlin turned to look at him. “What?” he asked, tiredness in his voice. “What can we do?” A volley of breath got out of him, causing his shoulders to slump. “We're stuck close to the South Pole, Arthur! We've been for a year!”

It wasn't as if Arthur didn't know. He needed no reminders of their position. “We could dig trenches in the ice. If we cut into it, open water will flow in.” He was already imagining how this would work. “It will allow the Klopstock to escape the ice. We might use dynamite to create a channel we could navigate.”

Merlin smiled a weak, unconvincing smile. “What do I know? I'm only the expedition's doctor.”

“You're more than that.” Merlin was the soul of this expedition. If the men still clung to life, it was because of Merlin. And not just because Merlin had devised a good diet and made sure they all were as healthy as could be. It was because he bore burdens with ease. Because he always had a nice word for the crew. Because he had kept smiling through the Antarctic night. If Merlin was down, it behove Arthur to help. Not just because it was right to stand by his crew-mates. But because Merlin... Well, he was special. “A lot more.”

Merlin didn't look as though he believed Arthur, but his expression warmed, like a small fire burning on in the depths of this never-ending darkness. “Thank you, Arthur.” He bowed his head, looking at his heavy, fur-lined boots. “For your words. They mean... quite a lot.”

The temperature was lowering. Arthur could feel it in his bones. Most of the time it was so cold it was scarcely bearable. But when the mercury dropped even further, you felt as though your face was being flayed off. Having the least Polar experience, Merlin bore it less well. He turned around to go below deck. 

Out of instinct, Arthur grabbed his arm. He didn't know why he'd done it and he didn't want to examine the action now. Though they'd rubbed shoulders for more than a year, they hadn't touched much. This wasn't something they did, that Arthur thought himself allowed to do. Mostly, he believed that if he let himself, he would start something that couldn't end well. Not on such a small vessel, in the dire situation they were in. Still, he had needed this moment of contact, this connection to Merlin, a man he admired from the bottom of his hear, had learnt from.

“I'll go look in on Daegal,” Merlin said, as he disappeared below deck.

***** 

Lieutenant Arthur's Pendragon board diary & logbook. 

12 August, 1898

_The curtain of blackness that has enveloped the world outside this cabin has locked us into a universe of barren isolation, of utter unredeemable despondence. Our souls have frozen like the icy wastelands outside and we're impervious to cheer. To the cold, however, we're not. In the galley, the sick bay and in the forecastle, men mope about, their spirits sunk, their moods gloomy, their faces spent. Our doctor..._

Arthur hesitated. Even though he had little hope of actually publishing this diary as he'd meant to, for they wouldn't likely see civilisation again, he dithered over actually writing out his thoughts frankly. Not because he feared scrutiny. Europe was too far, too remote to condition him now, but because his feelings wouldn't let themselves be pinned down. Or rather, if he was entirely honest with him himself, he had lately sorted them out so well he couldn't confide them to paper. 

_Our doctor attempts to chivvy the crew, talking to Cook so he will prepare the scant food we have in a manner that will maximise its benefits. He's been indefatigable at that. No detail Is too irrelevant for him and though it isn't his duty, he helps in the galley whenever he can._

Once again, Arthur paused in his writing. Was this too much? Was he praising Merlin too far? He admired what Merlin had done, his quiet way of supporting all expedition members, even though the hardships of their mission weighed on him as much as on the others. But these papers, which were originally meant for publishing, shouldn't show this much of his soul. Surely.

He changed tack. Better to discuss everyday minutiae. 

_Given the atmospheric conditions, members of our benighted crew keep as busy as possible. I myself went on deck after lunch today, where I made some observations. First and foremost I checked the stars so as to make an exact calculation of our position. I had just chosen two suitable ones, when I spotted a halo resembling a rainbow, generating two other semi arcs equal to the main one. Icy crystals shimmered like a shower of diamonds._

_I'm an adventurer, a man of action, but even I could see the beauty of this phenomenon._

A swift knock sounded on the door, in the rhythm of Morse code. Arthur knew what it meant. They had devised it together, after all. He hadn't even dropped his pen yet, when his heart broke free of its leashes and started a cacophony in his chest. Before he could sort out his reactions, the door inched opened.

Merlin entered his cabin, quickly closing the door after him. In the stillness the ship was wrapped in, it ought to have clanged. But it didn't. Merlin had a soft touch. 

“Am I interrupting you?” Merlin asked, as he surveyed what Arthur was at. He noticed his writings and made as if to retire.

“No, stay.” Arthur put a palm up. It was almost a supplication, so, feeling maladroit, he dropped it quickly. “I can't sleep anyway.”

“It's because it's always dark.” Merlin said that in a quiet voice, one suited to the hour. If they had been back home, sitting in a warm parlour, Merlin's tone would have matched the environment. “It's normal.”

Arthur nodded. He had no idea of the science of it; he only felt the after effects. “Sit down, please.” There was little space Merlin could do it in. As the First Lieutenant in this expedition, Arthur at least had a cabin to himself. But that didn't mean he inhabited a palace.

In order to sit, Merlin had to bend awkwardly, but he did manage to place himself on Arthur's bunk. The cabin being overall small, he was tremendously close to Arthur himself. When Arthur turned in his chair, their knees bumped.

Merlin looked at the point of contact and swallowed. Whatever he wanted to say, words seemed to fail him.

Arthur wasn't finding speaking easy either, so silence enveloped them both. If they listened, they could hear the roaring of the engine room, the whistling of the pipes. And if they really paid attention, they could pick out the howling of the wind as it passed through the spars. Both noises reminded them of their location, which lay close to the heart of the Antarctic. They needed to fill the void.

They spoke at once. 

“You should write a journal too--” 

“I admire your resilience.”

Merlin chuckled and Arthur found a smile. 

“I was serious,” Merlin said, rubbing his legs. It was either a nervous tick or he was trying to work some warmth into his body. After all, the crew hadn't been warm in a long time. “I don't know how you do it.”

“As everybody else does.” Minus Merlin's most worrying cases, like the Captain and a couple of battered sailors, the other men aboard the _Klopstock_ were somehow coping. “I'm not special, Merlin.”

“You're indefatigable,” Merlin said, with admiration ringing deep in his tones. “You do your job and what should be the Captain's. You record your thoughts and help the mechanics when they need more brawn. I really don't know how you do it.”

“It's not as if we don't have spare time.” Even though Arthur had made sure they busied themselves with their duties, it wasn't as if they had no time to themselves. The long, lonely hours between shifts were theirs to do with as they pleased, with no entertainment to enliven their lives.

“Still.”

“Merlin, you've been hauling your weight as well.” Arthur hoped Merlin saw that. Somehow Merlin didn't seem to be aware of his own qualities. When he'd come onboard the first time ,he'd been convinced he wasn't cut out to be a ship surgeon. He'd taken the job because the Captain had been begging him. Otherwise he would probably have stayed back in Europe. “You're better than Du Lac could ever have been.”

“He's a great doctor,” Merlin said, “more experienced when it comes to the field.”

“And prone to dejection and self-immolation.” Arthur had worked with him before and had first-hand knowledge of this. “You've cheered us on. Given us a reason to go on. Be it for a laugh or a fillet of seal. You've made this more bearable. Made this better.”

Though it was damnably cold and they all looked pasty, Merlin blushed. “You're only saying that because you're a generous and noble soul yourself.”

“No, Merlin.” Arthur placed his hand on Merlin's wrist, just an inch shy of his fur sleeve. “It's because I believe in you.”

Merlin gave out a little sob. “Arthur, you don't know what...” His eyes misted. He didn't cry. This adventure had probably dried all their tears, but all the same he looked shaken to his core. “I try. I'm trying my best. I keep thinking I'm failing. What with the Captain and men like young Daegal. But what you're saying means a lot to me. Because..” Merlin shook his head, and chewed on his lip. He looked as if he was in pain. “You're the person I admire the most. The bravest and the most honest. Not just here aboard-ship. To think I might stand high in your regard--”

Merlin's words melted the ice that Arthur had built around his heart in order to survive this endless journey. They did so naturally, with ease, like spring thawing tundras. As if they had been meant to be. Arthur hadn't been ready for it, but he seized the day nonetheless. There were too many reasons why he shouldn't live the moment, yet he felt able to heed none of them. 

They were already so close, kissing Merlin was easy. His lips weren't as soft as Arthur had imagined during his down moments, when he hadn't been on shift and could lie down on his berth thinking thoughts he wouldn't have dared conceive when there were things to be done. But that didn't mean anything. Merlin mightn't have matched the dream, but he was only the more real for it.

The cold and their limited diet had chapped and put sores on Merlin's lips, dried them at the corners where his mouth was raw. Merlin's stubble hadn't been taken care of in a couple of days either, so when Arthur's lips touched his chin they scratched along. But that didn't matter either. Though he had tried to give the example to what he'd come to think of as his men, to keep fit, he was in as rough a condition as Merlin himself.

Besides, these small shortcomings were nothing compared to the elation Arthur felt in kissing Merlin. He had hardened himself against all sorts of feelings, knowing he couldn't survive this sort of expedition without becoming cold, a slave to reason. Exactly because he had tamped down on all the lighter passions, they all tumbled out of him now.

His heart beat as though this was his first kiss and emotion nearly overwhelmed him. He could have cried for the joy of this. His softer side was finding a resurgence and all the buried sentiments he had once been capable of rushed forth.

Their breath misting between them because of the frigid air temperature, their mouths went at each other again and again. They nibbled at each other's mouths, running their lips along each other's jaws, nipping at chins, which awoke stifled laughter between them. A kind of exhilaration poured out of Arthur as they held each other, hands searching for grip, for something to hold on to, a rudder in this storm. 

Arthur had prepared to feel this kind of elation once he'd reached the Pole, once he'd inscribed his name in the annals of history, committing it to legend in a way that would please the spirit of his father. But this raw happiness had nothing to do with the glory he thought he'd claim for himself. It wasn't a mental construct, an achievement that would mean nothing but fame. It was based in the body, but it wasn't base for all that.

For all that their passions were being awakened, for all that they panted and groaned, seeking satisfaction with their motions, this wasn't just about quenching a withheld thirst, about giving in to instincts that their very specific situation had put to sleep. They had been on this long journey together and had developed a form of mutual respect for each other.

And then more deep-seated emotions had grown in their hearts. 

It was so cold, divesting themselves seemed unthinkable. Though Arthur's cabin wasn't as freezing as the upper deck, they were still trapped in the ice at the Pole. Ever since the season had become harsher, they'd devised a form of washing that entailed as little nudity as possible.

Though Arthur had always envisioned intimacy as something that involved nakedness, he didn't see how this could be done here of all places. He tried to vocalise this, but Merlin failed to understand.

“How?” he said at last, his hands finding cloth and fur rather than skin. “I don't--”

Merlin didn't say anything. He smiled and cradled Arthur's face in his capable doctor hands, hands that daily healed and cared for fragile patients. He thumbed at the hinge of Arthur's jaw, finding soft and rough spots, somehow making Arthur feel how intimate this was in spite of the lack of common sexual indicators. 

Slowly, he kissed Arthur. He did it as though this was a prayer, as if he was trying to convey the admiration and respect he had spoken about. Though Arthur didn't know how to live up to it, it meant everything to him. Lowering the neck of Arthur's big woollen naval jumper, Merlin nipped at his neck, sucking at the spot he had selected, causing Arthur to lose his breath to a hard exhale. 

Like a novice, a boy who's glimpsed the object of his desire for the first time, he hardened without a touch. The touch itself was like a direct connection to parts of him that hadn't stayed dormant in the long year and a half since they sailed from the Northern hemisphere. Knowing that the others were on board, Arthur bit down on the noise that he would have made had he been at freedom to. But he couldn't help grinding down, his hips motioning against a body not aligned with his. 

“Not like this,” Merlin murmured. He shifted them so he was lying horizontally on Arthur's bunk rather than sitting on it. He pulled Arthur on top of him. Though the berth wasn't constructed to bear the weight of two, it held. It groaned and they waited for the sound to die down, so that they wouldn't alert the entire expedition to their doings. 

Thinking about this common pact of secrecy, they gazed at each other, smiling. Only when everything was quiet again, did they reprise their activities. 

As Arthur bore down with a twist of his hips, Merlin pushed up. Their mouths touched as they desultorily kissed. With these motions, they made each other hard and, in spite of the air temperature, warm about the face and body. 

Encouraged, they rode each other hard. There was no style to it and no finesse, very little softness. What there was of it was to be found in Merlin's eyes, in the touch of his fingers on Arthur's nape as he cupped it, in the way his lips gave whenever Arthur's met his, his tongue in Arthur's mouth, probing with a gentleness Arthur had seldom experienced before.

“Take what you need," Merlin said, his voice low and raw, almost drowned by the backdrop thundering of the engine room. His fingers carded Arthur's hair, like the sea unknotting them.

Arthur's heart split right in two. Merlin was a giving soul and Arthur wanted to provide Merlin with everything he might want in return for that largesse of spirit. The situation they were in made this difficult, of course. For a brief moment, Arthur imagined what this would be like if they were back home. He pictured dining and wining Merlin, doing this by the soft light of the fireplace in Arthur's home. But of course if they had stayed in Europe, Arthur would never have met Merlin. If the expedition had kept them apart, it had also brought them together. For that reason, whatever may happen, should they perish, he would still be grateful to it. “We should...”

Merlin understood. With a little suppressed whimper, he stopped grinding against Arthur. His fingers trembling, he undid his trousers, and when he lifted off, Arthur's too. He bared them as little as necessary, so that their trousers and woollen underwear only reached their upper thighs. Their cocks, fully hard and spilling from anticipation, brushed together, skin to skin, fire to fire.

They both gasped, a marvelling look in Merlin's eyes Arthur was sure was reflected in his. This was entirely different from what had gone before. It was more carnal, more sensual. Having had no company but their own on the ship, what they were doing felt almost brand new, as if these paths, left unexplored, had acquired a novelty they didn't actually have. 

It was beautiful; it was awe-inspiring.

They started by haphazardly rubbing against each other, their flesh gliding together in numerous passes, catching, gliding, getting wetter by the moment as they leaked at the tip. As they did this, their breaths came fast and they hushed each other with their mouths, their chests pressing one against the other. 

Arthur wanted to speak out, say how much he was loving this, but if he did at all he'd grunt and howl and shout and they couldn't or they'd get caught. So he kept working his hips, his moans and sobs muffled by off-centre kisses that were all tongue and little else.

When the slide wasn't enough to bring them off, Arthur put a hand between them, wrapping it around them. He tugged hard, in a rhythm that had something of the punishing about it. Merlin stopped their kiss and threw his head back, eyes closed, shaggy hair that needed a trim dishevelled by the thin pillow.

They weren't trying to hold back; they were riding the wave, enjoying the rush, better than a sled ride to the very Pole. More and more pre-come oozed from them, until Arthur's hand started to get damp with it. 

It built and built, not the rhythm of it, because it couldn't have been faster, but the pleasure of it. It took everything Arthur had. He nearly feared being overwhelmed by it. His life had been devoted to exploration, to adventure. He had had little time for love. But now it seeped into him by increasing increments, the more they worked up their bodies, the more feeling came at him. 

Merlin had always been special to him. He had always felt drawn to him, from that first day in an Antwerp tavern when they'd first discussed the mission with their Captain to now. He guessed he had always been sweet on Merlin, if the term could apply to Arthur. But now every move and stifled sound he made awoke Arthur to inexpressible fondness, to deep-seated affection. He hadn't known he could experience so much.

He'd have thought longer about it, but his body raced ahead of him. His hips locked themselves in one of the countless hitches they had worked themselves into. Arthur plunged into orgasm as if in a bottomless sea, one that wasn't dark and obscure like the ocean fringing the Pole. 

The bliss of it must have painted itself on his face, for Arthur saw the marvel of it reflected in Merlin's. He looked stunned, pleased, flushed, shy of it, what was happening between them. And then it overtook him too. He held his breath, his body spasmed, contracted in a little motion at the waist, and he came like Arthur had. 

Arthur saw it happen, saw Merlin's length in his grip. Watched it give a little tremor, before he stained Arthur's hand. 

Arthur shared a look with Merlin, who had dazed eyes now, sleepy eyes. He bent over a little, his back arching against the upper frame of his bunk, and, now that he was soft and a little defenceless, he licked the tip of Merlin into his mouth, washing him clean before tucking him in. 

While Merlin closed his eyes, his breath rising and falling in diminishing waves, Arthur pulled up his trousers.

They lay in silence for a while, one on top of the other, their bodies cooling, the serrated rhythm of their lungs giving way to peace.

“What time is it?” Merlin asked after awhile, staring upwards, his gaze still lost in dreamland.

Arthur had forgotten to wind his watch. He didn't know what time it was or how long they had been at it, where they were supposed to be or what duties Merlin had. His shoulders rose in a shrug.

“I should be going,” Merlin said, the utterance sad, a little listless with the mournfulness of it. 

Arthur knew they shouldn't raise suspicions. That they shouldn't publicise this turn in their relationship. All members of the expedition were good men, but the tacit rule was that you kept such happenings to yourself, that you didn't parade them. “Yes,” Arthur said, while he meant that Merlin should stay and spend the night.

But that was just a wish. Merlin had to go. He only hoped this hadn't just been a parenthesis between the chill of the Antarctic and their end at the hands of the Pole. If he had the power, Arthur would save Merlin from it, would make sure he survived, got to tell the tale of their furious dash to the southernmost point of the earth's axis. But he didn't have such sway. He couldn't command the elements, nor could he change Merlin's choice to join the expedition.

While Arthur mused, Merlin made himself presentable, making sure his trousers passed muster and that his hair looked less like the fur of a sled dog.

When he was done, he kissed Arthur on the cheek, his gaze still alight with a quiet ardour that managed to burn Arthur like a fire, even here in the ice. “I'll be back,” he said, before going, shoulders hunched and head down, his pace the desultory, gangling one he favoured.

Arthur prayed there would be a next time, and that the next time wouldn't be last before their own Polar apocalypse.

****

Thanks to Merlin's ministrations, the Captain and those of the crew who had taken ill mended and were once more able to take an interest in the affairs of the ship and the expedition. Their recovery made them capable of reasoning and rendered the situation even more clear to them. They couldn't stay stuck forever. They had wintered at the Pole for a year already. The prospect of spending another one trapped in the ice was becoming a reality. 

The Captain ordered a reconnaissance mission. This one was easy. First and foremost they had to establish how deep the ice that encompassed the ship ran. Arthur offered to take the measurements. Together with the Belgian Third Lieutenant and a cabin boy, Arthur took soundings and the required measurements. The ice was about seven feet thick and showed no cracks or fissures. They didn't need a discussion with the Captain to establish the likelihood of wintering at the Pole again. 

However, they dutifully reported their findings, which sparked a controversy that lasted days. Half of the crew wanted to wait for the floes to melt. The other half wished to take their fate in their hands. Eventually, the Captain decided not to take any rash action. He opted for sending another group on a scouting assignment of their environs. They would have to find out where open water was. If it was close, they had a chance. 

When the Captain asked who was willing to search for navigable waters, Arthur was the first to offer. He stepped out of the line and asked to be given that task. He wasn't striving for heroics, which the Captain clearly believed of him. He wanted a chance to save his crew-mates, and Merlin in particular. He would never find peace if he died without having accomplished that.

The Captain chose a Polish geographer to lead the mission, however. Then he made the names of other team members. He made sure to leave those who had been ill on the ship, but he did name the name of one person who'd just recovered. By then Arthur had lost all hope of contributing to the undertaking when the Captain, after a silent pause, named him too.

It was then that Merlin stepped forward as well. “If I may, Captain,” he said, chin high, face chafed by the wind, which blew more fiercely than ever today. “I'd like to join the group too.”

“No,” the Captain said, without even shaking his head. “You're our only doctor. Without you we'd be lost.”

Merlin could be seen grinding his jaw. “If we don't find a navigable channel, sir, we're equally lost.”

The Captain seemed to take that in with less brusqueness than could have been expected. “I sent a geographer and an oceanographer together with our First Lieutenant. What can you contribute to the mission that those men can't?”

Merlin looked at a loss for words. Arthur was torn between feeling sorry for him and hoping he would be denied participating. That way, at least, Merlin's continued survival would be guaranteed. That mightn't seem like much, given that they were doomed anyway, but it was a start. And if only one of the men sent on this scouting assignment made it back to the _Klopstock_ alive – and if he had good news – then the fate of the others would be vouchsafed.

Face a mask of determination, Merlin said, “I can make sure the group make it back in one piece.”

The Captain appeared momentarily taken aback. He was thinking, Arthur knew, considering the proposition, trying to come to the best decision. While he was poorly, the Captain had been impulsive and petulant, prone to bouts of indecisiveness and melancholy. But now that he was well again, he had found his resolve anew. “All right, Doctor Emrys, you can join the party.”

They set off after a lunch of pemmican and tinned meats, their bodies wrapped in a multitude of layers. Their faces shielded by reindeer hide collars and snow goggles, which served to preserve them from snow-blindness. Merlin in particular recommended everyone wear them. All but one of the sailors complied and this man was the only one to show symptoms en route.

They travelled on skis, walking against the wind, their hands half-frozen around the poles, their faces completely numb as they walked towards an horizon they couldn't see. The snow was sheathed with a hard crust, which was toilsome to traverse, and they were compelled to stop at more reprises so as not to be completely winded by the time they got at the end of each leg of journey.

It was during one of these pauses, that Merlin found the time to sit next to him. They had no bivouac, no campfire, not in these conditions. “I'll be by your side, whatever happens.”

Arthur had wished it were different. But now that they had come to the end of their journey, he was glad Merlin was with him. Had Merlin known? Had Merlin intuited what Arthur himself hadn't been able to accept? That Arthur would cherish the fellowship and be glad of the love known here, at the ends of the earth? Either way Arthur could only nod. It was all he had time to do, for the mission leader spurred them on. And then they could only think of the task ahead.

Their bodies half-frozen, their extremities almost stiff with frostbit, they trudged on. If not for the Aquavit that kept them running, they wouldn't have spotted the island floating free of the ice at the furthest point of their field of vision, and they wouldn't have spied a channel of flowing water. 

***** 

On their return from the mission, they argued in favour of digging a canal that would rejoin the channel they had discovered, a sea route the _Klopstock_ could navigate. They tried blasting their way free with tonite, an explosive meant to shatter the ice and release the ship's hull. The tonite created showers of ice that rained everywhere, a pretty view, but that didn't dislodge the vessel.

In the end, they resorted to sawing channels with their own hands, taking to saws and axes to do the job. No one was spared, neither Captain, nor First Officer, not even the scientists. 

Merlin and Arthur worked side by side. There was little room for talk, and all hope was dependent on their efforts. But Merlin managed to put in a supportive word every now and then, invariably managing to lift Arthur's morale.

They continued day and night, the cold freezing their joints and addling their brains. They shovelled and axed away at the ice, until its layers thinned. They removed the upper sheets of it using shovels and picks. At last the bark of the hull was partly released. They cheered then. They drank a lot as well, schnapps and vodka, and Norwegian brennevin. Even Merlin, always so attentive to the health of the crew, didn't complain of the evil effects of strong drinks. He even drank the health of the expedition, imbibing a goodly amount that reddened his face more than ice burn did.

Over all they dug a two thousand feet canal. They were hardened by the job, toughened beyond all recognition. They kept at it with the perseverance of the stubborn. 

And then the day came. The weather changed. Leads opened and the canal they had been excavating widened until it joined the channel they had found during their previous emergency exploration. 

They stood a hundred feet from the ship, hidden by its bulk when Merlin brushed close to him, taking his gloved hand in his. “We're heading home, Arthur. We're heading home.”

Wayfarer that he was, the word had never meant much to Arthur. But now it held all the appeal in the world.

The End


End file.
